


Just Do It

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: First Kiss, Humor, Light-Hearted, M/M, Mild Language, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The situation may be entirely different, but can Will... 'jump'... again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Do It

**Author's Note:**

> This (and seeing as I wrote it, I can say this!) is little more than a light hearted piece of, at the end of the day, 'nothingness'. It's... hopefully... sweet, and believable enough, but to be perfectly honest my only goal in writing it was... to write... something. Anything! I wanted short, angst-free, and... seriously... just to write. And, well, with no notes or forethought, this is what came out.
> 
> I'm posting it because... I'm reverting to past form and back-logging fics as I dither over whether to share them or not. In other words, if I don't force myself to post every now and again I just... won't. (Granted, it was a decade ago now, but I once lost interest in a fandom with over 1,000 pages of unposted fics on my hard drive. Er... Ooops? I'm trying really hard not to let that happen again!)
> 
> Anyhoo!
> 
> Narrated by Will. Self beta'd.
> 
> Normal, angst-heavy service should resume shortly, but for now... Enjoy!

=========  
Just Do It  
by TalithaX  
=========

 

“You jumped.”

“Yes. I did.” Looking Ethan in the eye, I shrug and add, “But that was only because I had to.”

“You didn't have to,” Ethan replies easily as, swallowing the last of his scotch, he signals to a passing waiter for another. “No one held a gun to your head or forced you.”

“Okay. Fine.” I shrug and, for no real reason other than I feel as though I have to, that I can't let on to Ethan just how much he's succeeding in getting to me, continue to look him in the eye. “I did it because I felt that I had to, that... after having had it all explained to me, I could see that there was no other way and that it simply had to be done. And... if I had to be the one to do it, then so be it.”

Six months ago, give or take a day here or there, I had a conversation with Benji on a private jet en route to Mumbai that I honestly thought would never be topped for sheer insane, irrational... surreality. What he was explaining to me, what he... expected... me to do - it defied logic. Jumping from a great height. Magnets. A chainmail type bodysuit. Oh, and courtesy of both a computer and some sort of remote controlled contraption, he'd 'catch me'. The words he was using were all familiar to me, yet still I struggled to make sense of them, to... comprehend... just what it was he was wanting me do. While it – “Jump?” “And I'll catch you.” – might sound simple, positively basic even, it quite literally wasn't like any conversation I'd ever been involved in before.

Now, however...

I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm over tired and the glass of scotch I thought I'd unwind with has gone straight to my head and I'm not thinking entirely straightly, but...

This, for the extreme want of a better word, conversation is giving every indication of being even more... peculiar than Benji's promise of catching me once, clad of course in my technologically advanced chainmail, I took my life into my hands and 'jumped' was. At least, strange though it may have been, there was a point to Benji's odd instructions. Doing my bit to save the world from a nuclear strike was, if nothing else, something I could both understand and appreciate.

Which is far more than can be said for Ethan's completely random offer of, “So... You and me. How about it?”

Just...

I'm sorry, but... What the fuck?

Okay. I'll admit that I was paying more attention to the gay couple sitting at the table near ours than – polite society dictates – I should have been. In their early to mid thirties and with model good looks, they were clearly – in love – comfortable with both each other and their sexuality and, simply put, they made for a nice sight. That's all though. I was watching them because I liked what I was seeing, not because I was envious or jealous, or... projecting... a sense of longing that would take more than the threat of torture to get me to admit to.

And, besides, why was Ethan watching me watching them, anyway? We were having a drink to celebrate the successful completion of yet another mission. Something we'd frequently done in the past. Nothing special. Certainly nothing unique. Then... Once Jane had dragged a protesting – although, really, I think it was one of those times when he was just enjoying the sound of his own voice far too much to go quietly – Benji off to investigate the local night life, Ethan, with yet another scotch under his belt, just had to go and say it.

“So... You and me. How about it?”

His usually immaculate timing leaving a bit to be desired for once, I nearly choked on the sip of scotch I'd just taken. In fact, if I'd taken a full mouthful I probably would have sprayed it all over him in my – 'just where on earth did... that... come from?' – shock. I'm a calm, logical person. I don't like surprises and I most definitely don't like not feeling as though I know what's going on. So, call it stepping neatly into a carefully baited trap if you like, I just had to go and seek clarification.

“How about... what?”

“How about we go upstairs to our suite and get to know each other better...”

While Ethan's response was arguably ambiguous, his expression wasn't and I could feel myself – blushing – becoming more flustered by the second. It wasn't that I hadn't spared the idea a wishful thinking, wistful thought every now and again, but... Random. I don't... do... random. It messes with my head and throws my carefully organised little world off its axis.

“You...” Once the proverbial cat had finally let go of my tongue, I responded to Ethan's bombshell by no doubt blowing him away with my skilful ability to state the obvious. “You were married.”

“Past tense, and while Julia was a very special woman, it was still a... failed... experiment in more ways than one.”

“Oh.” There was no denying Ethan looked slightly put out by the blandness of my reply at this point, but, seriously, I don't know just what the hell it was he'd been expecting. For me to jump to my feet, grab him by the hand and drag him upstairs? To... swoon? To just shrug and mutter, 'Be still my beating heart'? To come across as all defensive or indignant?

“If you're not interested or don't... swing that way, just... forget I ever said anything.”

“I... It's not that...” Just... What else could I say? Of course I was interested and, yes, I – quite firmly, in fact – swung that way, but... Random! If I'd had any inkling that it was a... possibility... or had ever caught him looking at me with interest, then... Maybe I – would have embraced the moment – wouldn't have been so reticent. But... Nothing. I get that Ethan plays his cards close to his chest, I do, but I not only have to have studied mine in detail but also have to know them off by heart before I so much as... contemplate... showing them, so...

Again, what did he honestly expect?

“Then... What is it?”

“Its crazy.” All of it. The randomness, the topic, the very thought that he actually meant it, it was all just ludicrous.

“No it's not.”

“It is. It's crazy. And, come on, Ethan, surely you know me well enough by now to know that, unlike you I might add, I don't... do... crazy.”

And... That's when he came out with the very much matter of fact, “You jumped.”, comment and, here we still are, caught in the grips of a surreal, most likely going nowhere, completely out of the blue and illogical – again, for the extreme want of a better word – conversation.

“You accepted my offer to return to field work,” Ethan – who never let it be said gives up without a fight – calmly states as, the waiter returning with his drink, he takes the glass with a nod of thanks. “Some might say that in itself was a... crazy... decision.”

“It wasn't a crazy decision at all,” I reply with a quick – longing glance at Ethan's scotch – shake of my head. “I had my reasons. Reasons that I stand by.”

“And they were?” Ethan queries as, smiling benignly, he toasts me with his glass before taking a sip of scotch. “Your reasons, I'm curious as to what they were.”

They were mine, that's what they were, but – just call me clairvoyant – I can't see Ethan being satisfied with such a glib response.

Sighing, I drum my fingers against the table and shrug. “Seeing as there was going to be a new Secretary sworn in I thought it would only stand to reason that he'd want to bring his own Chief Analyst with him, which, of course, would have meant I'd have been made redundant.” 

“Oh.” His smile broadening, Ethan leans back in his chair and runs his fingers through his hair. “So the only reason you joined the team was because you were afraid you'd be out of a job.”

“That wasn't what I said,” I complain as, frowning, I sit up straighter and shoot him what I really hope he correctly translates as a – 'why are you doing this to me?' – warning look. “It made sense to me that the new Secretary would want to surround himself with his own people which, if you think about his current team, is exactly what he did, and while I had no qualms with either losing the position of Chief Analyst or even being relegated to part of the pack, I decided to accept your offer because I thought field work was where I might best be utilised. I also accepted because I thought, despite the circumstances we were thrown together in, that we all worked quite well together and that if I was going to return to the field that I may as well do so with people I already knew. If that's... crazy... then, I'm sorry, I think your definition of crazy and mine happen to be quite different.”

“Uh-huh.” Taking another sip of scotch, Ethan leans forward and, I swear, gives every impression of doing his best not to laugh. “So, it was all very logical and thought out.”

I nod. “Of course it was.” And, yet again, what was he seriously expecting me to say, that I consulted the Tarot before making my decision?

“It wasn't, then, just so you could get to spend more time in my admittedly wonderful company?” he murmurs, giving me the most amazing, positively award winning innocent look over the top of his glass before following it up with a wounded sniff. “I think you may well have just hurt my feelings.”

That? That's what he was expecting me to say? Just... How could he ever know that, yes, part of my reasoning was the fact that his would be the team I was joining? It doesn't make any sense. None of it. Not one thing since Jane and Benji left has made any sense whatsoever.

“And I think you may well have had just enough to drink,” I retort, hiding my growing discomfort behind a slightly over the top sigh of my own. “You asked for my reasons for joining the team and I gave them to you. If you don't like them or they weren't what you were wanting to hear then, again, I'm sorry, I don't know what you want me to say.”

Ethan gives an unbothered shrug and returns his glass to the tabletop. “While it would be... novel... for you to say something that you haven't carefully ran through your head first before opening your mouth, I don't... want... you to say anything other than the truth,” he replies, his smile slipping as he gazes across the table at me. “I get the impression, Will, that this conversation is making you uncomfortable,” he continues as, proving once and for all that his acting skills are second to none, I realise that he's neither drunk nor toying with me and that, unlike only a moment or two ago, his mood has now turned quietly serious. “If this is the case then I apologise.” Pausing, he finishes his drink before standing up and fishing a handful of cash out of his pocket which he then drops down onto the table to pay for his tab. “The offer, while admittedly spur of the moment, was genuine but... as I can see all it's succeeded in doing is messing with your curiously endearing head, just... Please. Put it down to the influence of the scotch and forget I ever said anything. The last thing I ever wanted to do was to disconcert or... annoy you. You're... too important to me to...” Trailing off, he shrugs and begins to walk out of the bar. “You're just too important to me and... uh... let's leave it at that.”

Oh dear God. And that's where he leaves it? Just... Again. What the fuck? 

He makes what I take to have been a...pass... at me, then he throws a few vaguely... teasing... questions at me and then, just as the pressure in my head is reaching boiling point, he – comes to his senses – just up and walks off on me after dropping yet another... random... comment?

Just... Why? 

Why me?

Sighing, I snatch up the money left by Ethan on the table and, suddenly feeling in great need of a drink, make my way over to the bar. Taking a seat on a stool, I hand over the cash for Ethan's drinks, order a double scotch and, when it arrives, down it in one gulp before ordering a second one. 

It's not...

It's not... what?

It's not that I don't like Ethan. It's not that I'm not interested in what he seemed to be offering. It's not that I don't like men. It's not that I don't... want... him or haven't wiled away an hour – or ten – here or there deluding myself that I stood a chance with him or imagining what it would be like. It's not that I'm adverse to taking up freely given offers of simple, innocent pleasure.

It's just...

It's just that I... can't.

I can't blindly take up his offer without knowing where it might lead. I might want to... Actually, I do. I do want to. I want to follow Ethan to our suite and to just... lose... myself in the moment, whatever it may entail and wherever, if anywhere, it may lead, but... I can't. I'm not mentally geared for one night stands with people I already care about and nor have I ever been able to truly get my head around the 'friends with benefits' concept. If I was going to give in and take the chance I'd have to know there was a possibility, however slim, of it leading somewhere. I don't need a guarantee of success, just a promise that it could, with work, perhaps lead to something. Without it though...

Maybe I'm being too cautious. Maybe I should just step out of my – carefully dissected and thought out – comfort zone and embrace the moment, but I can't. Not without far more thought at any rate.

“I suspect you're not interested in my advice,” the barman, a slightly rough-around-the-edges looking man in his late twenties states as he slides over my second scotch, “but... Just do it.”

More startled by the fact he's sticking his unwanted nose in my business than annoyed, I jerk my head up to stare at him and mutter, “Excuse me?”

“The moral dilemma you're mulling over, the one that's clearly written all over your face,” he continues with a cheery grin, “unless it's suicide of course, because well, then my advice would change to just... don't... don't do it, I say you should just go for it and, you know, do it.”

“You do, do you?” Unasked for advice from a barman with not only a ring in his nose but also his left eyebrow and bottom lip as well. Fantastic. There's just no help for it, this really is my night.

“I do. Yes.”

“And...” Fuck it. It's not like I'm getting anywhere with any of it myself. So... What the hell. Advice from a barman. I mean, why not? “Why do you say that?”

Shrugging, the barman tops up my drink on the house and pours himself one as well. “Because it's a good motto to live by.”

I toast him with my glass before taking a sip. “Nike think so too.”

“Fuck, if you'll excuse my French, Nike,” he retorts, returning my toast and swallowing his scotch in one mouthful. “Just... You're sitting there stewing on something so... What's the harm in biting the bullet and just doing it?”

“Because I... I might like it...”

“So?” The barman gives me a peculiar look, like I've just shot to the top of his list of whack jobs he's encountered tonight. “That sounds like a good thing if you ask me.”

“Not if it's a... one-off, it's not.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean, why not?”

“If you liked it, even if it doesn't happen again you'll still have the memories.”

I shake my head and take another drink. “No. I need more than that.”

“Why?”

“Because that's how I am.”

“Stuck in your ways?” he offers, shrugging. “No offence meant, of course.”

“No, of course not,” I mutter, scowling at the barman. “It... It's just not that easy. The stakes, they're too high. If it doesn't work, I... I don't know what would happen.” Other, that is, than I'd end up feeling as though I'd have to leave the team which, above and beyond everything else, I know is something I don't want to do.

“So?” He shrugs again. “You'll never know if you never give it a go.”

“I...” The barman's own unique version of logic, I get it, I do, but... applying it to my own life? That I'm just not so sure about.

Noticing a well dressed woman in a pair of shoes with ludicrously high heels teeter up to the bar, he flashes me a cheeky grin and gives my wrist a quick squeeze. “One last thing before I take my advice elsewhere,” he states, “you're still easily young enough to not want to give up on life and just slip prematurely into old age and the inevitable slew of regrets that comes along with the arthritis and wrinkles. So... I know you think I'm mad, but, seriously, just do it.”

“I'll be sure to keep that in mind,” I reply as, having had enough of both the barman and my scotch, I dig a few notes out of my pocket and place them on the bar before standing up and, having nowhere else to go, heading upstairs to our suite.

Just do it.

Just... Wave the white flag of defeat and, regardless of the possible cost, give in to the moment.

I could, I suppose. I could... subscribe to the 'once is better than never' school of thought and – break the habit of a lifetime – not over think everything into itty-bitty pieces. I could... Carpe diem and all that.

I could...

Fuck.

Too busy living in my head to be paying any attention to what I'm doing, seeing as I've just pushed open the door to Ethan's room it appears that, well I never...

I am doing it.

Only...

Now that, both literally and consciously, I'm here I see that the light is off and Ethan's already asleep, which means... 

I'm too late. I left my run too late and now the choice has effectively been taken out of my hands.

I...

I don't know if I should be relieved or disappointed. Relieved that I didn't get the chance to possibly make a huge mistake, or disappointed that I lost the... chance, period.

Biting back a sigh, I turn around and start to walk back towards the door.

“I'm not asleep, you know,” Ethan murmurs just as the room is bathed in a warm golden glow from a lamp on the bedside table being switched on.

“I...” Coming to a stop, I don't turn around and, hugging my arms loosely around my chest, stare fixedly out through the door. Relief or disappointment... Relief or disappointment... Oh God, I don't know. I just don't know. “And I'm still not sure,” I whisper after what feels like minutes have passed. “I want to be, but...”

“My offer, if you remember,” Ethan interjects quietly, “was to get to know you better. That's all.”

“That's... all,” I echo, not quite comprehending what he's getting at. “I thought...”

“It can mean whatever you're most comfortable with. It can be... physical, or it can be taken literally.”

“Literally...” Hesitantly turning around, I find Ethan, who's wearing a white tank top and blue pyjama pants, sitting up in bed and smiling at me hopefully. “But I thought...”

“And at the time that's what I meant,” Ethan interrupts as he pats the mattress next to him and holds his hand out towards me. “Seeing how you reacted though, I... I realised that it was wrong of me to put you on the spot like that and that, in hindsight, I do know you better than I let on. What I offered... isn't you... and I know now, after watching and possibly even, which you've got to believe was the last thing I ever would have wanted, hurting you, that it's not actually what I want either.”

“Oh...” And, just like that, I'm confused again. Now he's saying he... doesn't want me, that it was all just a mistake?

“Hey... Don't look so worried...” All the time keeping his hand extended towards me, Ethan shifts into a kneeling position. “I still want you, of course I do, but... first... I want to get to know you. So...” He waits until, feeling as though I have no choice, that in this instance I'd be deranged not to take the – plunge – step, I've moved over to the bed and tentatively placed my hand in his, before adding, “Your favourite colour, what is it?”

Too focussed on the sensation of his hand gently squeezing mine to be sure I heard him correctly, I cock my head to the side and give him a quizzical look. “What? Did you really just ask what my favourite colour is?”

He nods and, grinning, mimics my head cocking. “I did. I did just ask you what your favourite colour is,” he replies. “Getting to know you, remember?”

“Oh.” Of course. Silly me.

“We've got to start somewhere.”

“I suppose we do.”

“You were expecting more a... briefs or boxers... line of inquiry?” Ethan smirks as, too caught up in the... quaintness... of the moment to protest, I allow him to tug determinedly on my hand until I finally get the hint and take a seat on the edge of the mattress.

“Well... No.” To be totally honest here I don't know what – if anything – I was expecting. And... Okay. Fine. Favourite colour is, I suppose, as good a place to start as any. Shrugging, I wait until Ethan, who still has this curiously Cheshire Cat like grin stretched across his lips, has settled himself next to me before stating, “Green. My favourite colour is green.”

“See?” He gives my thigh a – I swear, congratulatory – pat. “That wasn't too hard now, was it?”

“Hard? No,” I mutter, swivelling around so I can better face Ethan. “Somewhat strange, yes, but not hard.”

“Having always had high hopes for you, I knew you could cope,” Ethan retorts as, resting his palms flat on the mattress, he leans back and gazes at me intently. “Now, moving on...”

“Uh-uh.” I shake my head and, I suspect, fail dismally in my attempt to give him a stern look. “Quid pro quo.”

“Uh-uh... followed by quid pro quo,” Ethan snickers, dare I say it, quite merrily. “Your eloquence, it... it's a true thing of beauty.”

“And you're a smart ass!”

Shrugging, he shuffles closer and presses his thigh against mine. “Sticks and stones...”

Mock groaning, I poke my finger into his side and roll my eyes. “Don't tempt me.”

“So...” Laughing, he winks at me. “Am I to take that as a... hint... to your kinky side?”

“What?” Jerking my head back, I feign a frown and fold my arms across my chest. “I... merely... wanted to know the same things about you that you want to know about me, so... Get your mind above your waistline and, assuming you want to keep playing this getting to know you game, tell me what your favourite colour is...”

“Guess.”

“Guess?”

“Mmm... Guess.”

“But I didn't make you...” Trailing off, I roll my eyes again and shrug. “Fine. Have it your way, then. Working here on black not being considered a colour, I'd say your favourite colour then would most likely be... blue.”

“Correct.” He nods and flashes me a happy smile that, to my surprise, takes years off him and makes him look as close to carefree as I've ever seen him. “Now, my turn, yes?”

“Go for it.”

“Are you a... dog person or a cat person?”

“Cat,” I confirm, giving Ethan a – genuinely – happy smile of my own. It's all very strange, and I'm still not entirely sure just what the hell it is that's going on here, but... It's fun. Simple, light hearted, amusing fun that's so far removed from the usual day to day masks we feel as though we have to wear, that... I don't know. It's just special somehow. “Definitely cat.”

“Although I can't say this comes as any great surprise,” Ethan replies, bumping his knee against mine, “I'm still going to ask... why. Why do you favour cats over dogs?”

“Because I'm yet to meet a cat who either wants to sniff my groin or get intimately acquainted with my leg.” Hey. He asked.

Ethan's expression confirming that – go me – I've succeeded in sharing something with him that he most likely never expected to hear pass through my lips, he shakes his head and laughs. “Canines reckon you've just got that... certain something, huh?”

“You have no idea,” I reply, pulling a face. “Seriously. You haven't lived until you've had one of those handbag, over-sized rat type dogs going for it like there's no tomorrow on your ankle. Oh... And before you ask, I wish I was joking but, sadly, I'm not. I'm telling you, if a mission ever calls for the distracting of guard dogs then... I'm your man. They'll just have to take one look at my legs and they won't be able to say no.”

“I... I'll try to remember that.”

“You do that.” Following Ethan's lead, I bump my knee against his and smile. “Now... What about you, canines or felines?”

“Felines.”

“Because...?”

“Because they're not afraid of heights, of course.”

“Of course.” Laughing, I inch closer to Ethan and, as his arm automatically settles around my shoulders, lean against him. “I should have known.”

“You should have,” he agrees, tightening his arm around me as – call it instinct or delighted surprise at how well things are going – I marvel at how natural it all just feels. “Think about it though, at least we now know that when we're old and grey we'll both be perfectly content sharing our house with a flock of tree-dwelling, indifferent to your sexual allure cats.”

Old and grey? Living together? Flock of cats?

If nothing else I think it well and truly puts to rest my earlier concern about Ethan's interest being a... once off... sort of thing.

“It's actually a... glaring... or... clowder... of cats,” I murmur, looking at Ethan and finding him gazing back at me with a hesitant, possibly even vaguely worried expression on his face. “But... You know, semantics aside, I think I could live with that.”

“So... The only issue you have with my... vision... of our future is feeling the need to correct me on what a group of cats is actually called?” Ethan replies quietly, his gaze searing into mine and holding me transfixed. “The rest of it though, it didn't... scare you off or alarm you in any way?”

“It might have made me want to laugh and, okay, the mental image of you sitting in a rocking chair with a big fat Persian licking its backside on your lap is one I'll probably never be rid of, but...” Pausing, I close my hand around Ethan's thigh and look him directly in the eye. “If it helps, it... reassured... me far more than it alarmed me.”

“Reassured you?”

I nod. “Mmm... Because it told me that, the jumping ahead to our possible future cattery aside, you were wanting to try to make something of... this, that it's not just a whim or... something different to do...”

Looking relieved, Ethan smiles and places his free hand over mine. “I really put you on the spot in the bar, didn't I?”

“It... It was out of the blue, yeah. Not unwanted, but, I... I'm just not geared that way,” I confess softly. “I had to know more before I could... commit or, well... jump.”

“And... now?” Ethan prompts, entwining his fingers with mine.

“And now...” For the first time tonight I'm actually confident that, at long last, I know what it is I'm doing. “And now I need to ask you to remind me to leave an extravagant tip for the barman when we check out tomorrow,” I murmur cryptically as I gently cup Ethan's cheek in the palm of my hand. 

“Uh...” His expression one of bemusement, Ethan leans into my touch and smiles. “Okay. If that's what you want, then...”

“Ignoring his predilection for facial piercings,” I interrupt with a grin, “he was actually surprisingly... wise.”

“He... was?”

“Mmm... He was. Just... do it, he said, so... I'm going to...” Leaning forward, I plant a softly pliant kiss on Ethan's lips which, gratifyingly, he instinctively responds in kind to and which I honestly believe I feel all the way down to the tips of my toes.

“Just do it, huh?” he mutters as, pulling back from the kiss, he laughs at the look of disappointment on my face before – taking pity on me – pressing his lips fleetingly against my forehead. “You know, I'm suddenly thinking I may just have to leave a huge tip for the barman as well...”

Laughing, I trail my fingers down the side of his face. “Tell you what, if we get his name we'll name our first cat after him...”

~ end ~


End file.
